


Say It With Whiskey

by HilaryParker54



Series: Say It With...Primeval Oneshots [3]
Category: Primeval
Genre: BAMFstorytime, F/M, Headcanon, Lester's wife is totally BAMF, storytime with civil servants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HilaryParker54/pseuds/HilaryParker54
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Technically Whiskey should have come before Shoes, but Shoes was conceived and written first and I couldn't help but feel posting this one first would have detracted from that one. </p><p>---------------</p><p>A sardonic grin twisted his lips as he looked down at the crown of her head. "Perhaps I should get injured more often."</p><p>No sooner had the thought struck him, than Colleen sat up straight, pushing him back as she did so that she could look up at him.</p><p>The stiff-lipped glare she aimed at him made him realize he'd said the words out-loud and he shook his head.</p><p>"Joking darling, only joking," he promised.</p><p>"Yes well, you, dear, should stick to sarcasm and leave the humor to others," She admonished, punctuating the words with a slap to his hip before turning him slightly to stand so that she had a straight-on view of the bandage covering his injured left side. "Now stand still and drink your 'rudding whiskey'."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say It With Whiskey

The days following convergence, the destruction of New Dawn, and the demise of Phillip Burton had been tediously long for James Lester. Conference calls and face-to-face meetings with various Home Office and Prospero representatives took up the bulk of his time.

When not dealing with that lot of prats, there were cover stories to assist with, reports to be filed, the ARC cleanup and reconstruction to oversee and debriefings to sign off, if not sit in on; one for each and every member of the ARC staff. And, oh yes, because heaven forbid they should get a break from the everyday normal tasks at hand, anomalies to deal with.

_Perhaps thinking of the days as 'tedious' was being too kind, Lester thought with a resigned sigh._

The days certainly had not been healing, as the continued pain in his side could attest to. And, to make matters worse, someone had now seen fit to inform Colleen of his injury. He would quite cheerfully throttle the culprit, once he had convinced his wife to divulge her source.

Of course, that would mean speaking to her in a civil tone and, just now, that was not going to happen.

Later, he'd probably be able to look back on that moment when she had stormed into the Prime Minister's office as a magnificent display of everything he secretly adored about his wife.

Later.

Just now, though, he was silently fuming over her imperious announcement that "her James" was done for the day and was going home to rest and heal. She had then ushered him from the office and down to her car as if he were nothing more than a sick child being picked up from school.

_And you just followed along like a bleeding docile child, he scolded himself as he watched Colleen competently negotiate the heavy midday traffic._

But, of course, making a scene at Downing Street just was  _not done if one intended to hang on to one's post. Or any other post, for that matter._

No, he would have his say once they were safely behind closed doors.

Colleen knew him well enough to know his moods and said not a word on the drive to the apartment they maintained in the city. He was relieved that she hadn't truly meant to take him home, since that would require more than an hour long drive to get to the stately home where they had chosen to raise their three children, outside the city.

His brittle anger was already proving painful to hang on to, the tension it held causing his side to scream.

He climbed from the car, under his own steam, before she could come around to try and help him, and brushed off her  _oh so solicitous and concerned hand._

Colleen, thankfully, got the message and allowed him to make his own way across the car park, onto the elevator, and up to their apartment. She didn't hover, instead allowing him a full two feet of space, her hands primly folded behind her back.

The moment the apartment door shut behind them he rounded on his wife, scathing diatribe blistering his tongue with the need to purge.

The look in her green eyes, the slump in her always-perfect posture as she leaned against the closed door, brought him up short. The sarcasm and anger faded to distasteful ash in the face of her distress and, in the next moment, the space between them was gone, Lester not quite certain who had moved first.

How long they stood there in the foyer, secure in one another's arms, neither could have said afterwards. For his part, Lester felt himself truly relaxing for the first time since the convergence had started.

With that relaxation, came the unavoidable acceptance of the one truth he had been steadfastly ignoring in that same period of time: his life had very nearly ended less that seventy-two hours ago. If anything, the thought had his grasp on the woman in his arms tightening and his lips finding hers.

James was suddenly grateful to whoever had alerted Colleen to his injury and relieved to be able to finally let his guard down. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, amber eyes staring into green.

"Right then," Colleen finally said, breaking the spell and taking a step back and taking control. She kept one hand on his shoulder and the other at his uninjured side as she sized him up, before ordering, "Off to the shower with you, then bed I should think. I will ring Santini's and order up dinner, then bring you a tipple and see to re-bandaging your wound."

He considered arguing - or a sarcastic retort - for half a second, but decided he didn't really have the energy and that a hot shower and a stiff drink would both be truly welcome.

Leaning forward and giving her a quick kiss, he surprised her with a completely sincere, "Yes dear," before walking away.

Colleen watched him go, making sure he was out of sight before she reached out and placed a steadying hand flush against the wall, letting her chin drop to her chest as she blinked back tears. Holding him, feeling the press of bandages between them, the faint tremble in his limbs that spoke of the pain and exhaustion he had to be feeling, had driven home just how close a call this had been.

The thought of how close she had come to losing him, how close her babies had come to being fatherless, was gut wrenching.

Finally, when she could hear the shower running and she felt certain she had regained control, she moved into the living room and across to the well stocked bar. She mixed herself a gin and tonic with one hand as she picked up the cordless phone and dialed a number she knew by heart with the other. As it rang she took two gulping swallows of the drink, allowing the smooth burn to calm her more.

"Santini's."

The cheerful, chirping voice was at once irritating and familiar. "Yes, hello, Adelia. This is Colleen Lester, I would like to place the usual order for two to be delivered in an hours time."

She agreed that the card on file should be charged and had the young woman confirm what 'the usual' entailed. Once she was certain that the meal would be prepared and delivered as requested, Colleen hung up the phone and considered the array of Irish whiskeys her husband favored.

There were currently two open bottles: one the single malt Michael Collins that she knew he drank daily - there would be a bottle quite similar to this one in his desk drawer at the ARC; the other open bottle was the slightly more pricey Greenmore single grain that he tended to drink when he wanted to sit back and savor his drink.

She reached for the Greenmore then changed her mind, instead shifting both bottles aside to reveal an unopened Bushmills 1608 that was his favorite. He'd last opened a bottle on their tenth anniversary just a few months prior.

After pouring his drink and refreshing hers, she put both on a tray along with the bottle and carried them through to their bedroom. The sight that greeted her there had her tsking and shaking her head at her husband's uncharacteristic sloppiness. He was either in a lot more pain than she'd realized or more disturbed by recent events than he would ever want anyone to know.

_Either way, he needs to be taken in hand and I am just the woman for the job, Colleen thought to herself, setting the tray on the dresser and taking another sip of her G &T, before moving to pick up the dirty clothes and put them in the hamper. She picked up two empty glasses from the oak nightstand and took them to the kitchen, then came back to make the bed._

By the time James stepped from the bathroom, wearing dark blue and gray striped pajamas, the pants low around his hips and the shirt hanging open to reveal his bandaged side, she had the covers turned back invitingly, extra pillows piled against the headboard. The bedside lamps were lit, the one on his side of the bed uncovered to provide ample light for her to see what she was doing whilst she tended to his recovering wound.

From where she sat at the foot of the bed, Colleen held out his drink and he crossed to take the whiskey from her, moving with slow care. When he went to sit down, she reached out and took his hips, drawing him forward and slipping her arms around to hug his waist lightly. She was careful to keep her arms low, riding the same line as the waistband of the flannel material, as she rested her cheek against his uninjured side.

James settled his free hand at the curve of her neck reassuringly as he took a sip from the glass and realized exactly what she had given him to drink.

A sardonic grin twisted his lips as he looked down at the crown of her head. "Perhaps I should get injured more often."

No sooner had the thought struck him, than Colleen sat up straight, pushing him back as she did so that she could look up at him.

The stiff-lipped glare she aimed at him made him realize he'd said the words out-loud and he shook his head.

"Joking darling, only joking," he promised.

"Yes well, you, dear, should stick to sarcasm and leave the humor to others," She admonished, punctuating the words with a slap to his hip before turning him slightly to stand so that she had a straight-on view of the bandage covering his injured left side. "Now stand still and drink your 'rudding whiskey'."

Her husband did as ordered and Colleen focused on keeping her hands steady as she carefully peeled away the wet bandage and bit back a gasp when the wound beneath was revealed.

She knew if she looked up at James she might lose the tenuous hold she had on her control, so instead she carefully picked up the antibiotic ointment Dr. Wyler had prescribed.

It looked like he'd been stabbed, then the knife had been dragged up at an angle as it was pulled out, leaving an angry jagged gash that had been closed with several stitches and several more butterfly bands. The surrounding skin was an angry red, the warmth she felt there indicating at least a minor infection, so she made a mental note to be sure he had been taking the oral antibiotics the doctor had prescribed as well.

Watching her work, James sipped the whiskey, savoring the toffee-like flavor and trying not to flinch from her touch.

By the time she had the last of the white tape pressed into place, he had finished the drink and was looking forward to pouring another glass. When she pressed a kiss to the skin just above the bandage, he decided he much preferred her care to that of the medical staff at the ARC.

Not that he would ever admit it.

A soft melodic chime was heard through the apartment just then, and Colleen's hands were once more at his hips, urging him to step back so she could stand. She smiled at him then, and placed a kiss on his cheek, plucked his glass from his hands and gestured towards the bed. "That will be dinner. We'll make an exception and eat in here tonight, so into bed with you, then. I'll refill this when I come back."

He started to protest that he was perfectly capable of pouring his own 'rudding whiskey' but she breezed out of the room, taking the glass with her. He was left with little choice but to settle himself into the bed, sitting up against the pillows and headboard.

Once she'd collected their dinner from Gerry Santini himself, thanking him profusely but gently cutting off the attempt at polite conversation, Colleen moved into the kitchen. She took the time to transfer both meals to fine boned china that had been a wedding present from James' mother, gathered utensils from the silver drawer, and poured herself a glass of wine.

As she arranged everything on a dinner tray, she considered how best to get the whole story out of her husband, determined that before they settled down to sleep tonight she would know exactly how he had been injured and what was going on with the ARC and it's mission.

An hour and a half later, James Lester's belly was pleasantly full and, thanks to several glasses of his favorite whiskey, he was feeling very little pain.

And all without having to take the prescribed pain medication that would just mess with his head.

Colleen was cuddled into his right side, her head on his shoulder.

As promised, she had poured him a second drink to enjoy along with the veal involtini she had ordered in for dinner and they had talked about the kids, who were with her sister. Over a third glass of whiskey and tiramisu, she had managed to get him to give her the bare bones facts of how he had been injured.

His wife knew, of course, the ARC's purpose. She understood and accepted that the men and women who worked for him put their lives on the line everyday. She was not keen on the idea that what was ostensibly a desk job - his desk job - could sometimes be just as hazardous as that of a field agent, but she had accepted that as well.

Still, he glossed over the worst of the facts and tried to down-play his own actions, not about to admit to her that he had put himself between a vicious predator and the young field coordinator Colleen had personally picked for the job.

Jess' actions however, he now found himself being a good deal more forthcoming with, over a forth glass.

"She thew her shoes at the creature," he admitted with something akin to awe in his voice. "She fired the EMD at it first, of course, but the bloody thing was out of energy after one shot, and so she threw it at him, then her shoes. You'll be proud to know that she's got deadly aim with them. The shoes I mean. That turned the creatures attention to her and-"

He broke off then, tossing back the rest of his drink in one swallow, not tasting it at all. Colleen allowed him the moment, refilling the glass and realizing with surprise that the bottle was getting close to empty. Somehow, without quite meaning to, she was well on her way to getting her husband quite drunk.

"And..." she prompted him gently.

"It turned on her and, somehow, I'd managed to hang on to the power cell and a weapon of my own. I shot it, then ordered Jess to get to my office and barricade herself in, but she isn't very good at following orders, you know."

The last came out like an accusation and Colleen just knew he was reminding her, without actually saying the words, that she had chosen Jess Parker for the job. It was a vindication of sorts, given that both James and Philip Burton had questioned the recommendation. "She wouldn't leave you, I take it?"

"No more than she would have left Becker that time she managed to insert herself into his stakeout and ended up diffusing a bomb," Lester grumbled. "She doesn't seem to have an ounce of self-preservation, sometimes."

"Oh, I'm quite certain she was protecting herself both times, James," Colleen countered. "There are some pains worse than death."

That statement was more than his alcohol-clouded mind could fathom just then, so Lester just took another sip of his whiskey and continued with his story.

"She got me on my feet and we tried for my office, but there was no way I was going to manage the stairs. So she chose a spot where she could put her back to a wall - just a column, mind you - and settled in to wait. Whether we were waiting to die or be rescued, I still don't quite know, but she refused to leave me to my fate alone. Too damned loyal and stubborn for her own good, that girl."

"She was very brave," Colleen agreed, taking the glass from his hand and gently stretching over him to put it on the nightstand. She kissed his cheek then, and settled back against his shoulder. "I saw that a letter of commendation has been placed in her file, but perhaps some sort of personal thank you is in order?"

"Two in fact, one written by myself, and another the Prime Minister," Lester replied, his voice drowsy. He had insisted on that, along with letters for each of the other members of the Alpha Team.

They bloody well deserved something for saving the world.

Still, he couldn't help but think that his wife was right and a more personal thank you was in order.

"What does one give to say ' _Thank you for not leaving me to bleed to death or be eaten by a horrible monster, so as to save yourself', do you think?" he asked drily. "Flowers and chocolates?"_

Collen rolled her eyes. "James, dear, you give your  _secretary flowers for Admin's day. Jess Parker is certainly more than a secretary, and her actions were way above and beyond the call of duty."_

"You're right, of course," he agreed, reaching for the bottle tucked between them and taking a sip directly from it. "And I suppose chocolates, even if Jess is rather fond of them, are her and Captain Becker's thing. Somehow they seem wrong for me to give her."

"You've worked with her for nearly two years now, James. Surely you can think of  _something she would truly enjoy, as a proper thank you?" Colleen's prompt was paired with crossing her legs and settling one foot on his shin, in an attempt at a hint._

Staring at the stocking toes resting just beneath his knee, it did finally hit him. "Shoes! Our Miss Parker has a thing for shoes."

"Then shoes it shall be," Colleen agreed.

She shifted then, sitting up and taking the bottle from him.

She studied its contents and then took a sip herself before leaning in to kiss her husband lightly. When he went to wrap his arms around her and deepen the kiss she shook her head.

"You are pissed, darling, and in need of a good night's sleep. I'll see to the shoes and tidy up, you stretch out here and rest. I'll still be here in the morning," she added, the words as a promise.

"Yes, dear."

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Primeval, James Lester and Jess Parker belong to ITV.
> 
> Gerry Santini and Adelia belong to me, I guess, though at the moment they are nothing more than extras.
> 
> Colleen Lester belongs to the brilliant Sarcastic-Bones, and if you haven't read her fic, "Lester's Two Wives", I strongly recommend you check it out for a proper intro to James Lester's better half. I am extremely honored to have been allowed to write Colleen into this fic. I don't think it's posted here, but I did confirm it's still available on ff.net.


End file.
